Hospital Food
by Christoph Andretti
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky had it all: looks, money, and the best ice skater in the world. So why did he try to kill himself? Yuri is stuck in a hospital with two lovestruck doctors, annoying Khazaki therapist, and the most clueless group of nurses in the world. Now, he must devise a plan to survive his week under their watch and search for meaning in his life. HOSPITAL AU!
1. Chapter 1

Yuuri Katsuki should have been a lawyer.

Air battered his starved lungs with every hurried stride down the crowded sidewalk. The cardboard mug of overpriced black coffee sloshed in his trembling hands as he raced faster down the street. Onlookers flashed the man in teal scrubs a puzzled look. His raven hair waved in a frazzled mishmash with every step. Warm blood coursed through his cold limbs. His heart pounded the inside of his chest with the rhythm of stomping feet over cracked concrete.

His breath pillowed out into tufts of grey mist. His long strides propelled him past zooming cars sliding over concrete.

He should have been a lawyer because waking up at six in the morning and working to death at a hospital every day for the rest of his life was not in his agenda. He was supposed to go to law school and be the world's greatest lawyer. He slogged through all of the standardized tests and agonized over midnight english lessons. His parents shelled out thousands of dollars and pitched in for a beat up lemon to drive around the cold city. Yuuri went as far as to ransack all of the secondhand clothing stores for decent but not too expensive business suits.

And what did he do? Grew a conscious and decided he wanted to help people.

Nearing the rustic double doors, Yuuri barreled his way through the opening. When he entered the room, he crossed into the emergency center waiting room. He stopped in his tracks, scanning the quiet area.

This emergency room had become home for Yuuri during his residency. Blank walls with shining tile flooring stretched out over the expansive room. Plastic chairs lined the waiting area like statues of soldiers protecting the homeland. The shabby reception desk in front of the small signs pointed people into different directions. The place was quiet for once; the small wall clock nailed above a glass vase of roses ticked while an empty gurney remained motionless by a broom closet.

"Hey, Yuuri!" A dark-skinned man sitting in a leather seat behind the desk said.

Yuuri huffed as he neared the receptionist desk. "Hey, Phichit," he said.

Yuuri leaned over the gray desk and tried to capture his breath. Phichit, Yuuri's best friend since coming to Detroit, tilted his head as his cheerful smile devolved from the sight of this man's wheezing.

"Doctor Nikiforov made you get coffee again?"

Yuuri nodded. "He's working me to the bone, Phichit."

Phichit shrugged. "Oh well. What can you do?"

Yuuri sighed. "Thanks for the advice. I gotta get to the daily briefing."

Heading down the hallway, Yuuri slumped his shoulders. The past rotation for him had been torture. Being in his second year of residency, he thought he had survived the hell that was his first year. His study sessions and lectures in his second year were easier despite him still having issues with speaking up. Yuuri had a decent knowledge of most medical terms and techniques. He had even managed to lose a few pounds around his waist from his lack of sleep during his sixty-plus hour work weeks. He could not say he was the most talented or smartest upcoming doctor, but he was determined to make it through his new rotation at Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit, Michigan.

This hospital, however. This hospital was going to be the death of him.

Squinting his eyes from the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting above him, Yuuri turned the corner towards a door, the only indigo door on the first floor. Before going inside, Yuuri flattened the cowlicks in his dark hair. He scrubbed his eyes of any debris, and he straightened out the creases in his black dress pants. He always made sure that he looked perfect for the Doctor.

Opening the door, sleek dress shoes sat on top of mahogany wood.

The Russian man behind the desk smiled at the sight of his student, his hands crossed behind his head. His neat hair almost as white as the snowbanks on the sidewalks, the lean man sat on his leather chair with a relaxed expression. The rest of his office was quite tidy. A small eucalyptus plant grew in a white ceramic resting on a filing cabinet. It was a small office, but the pictures of the Russian man dotted the pale mustard walls. Above his head, a large mirror hung directly opposite the front door. Yuuri spied his reflection as the resting man opened his bright blue eyes.

"Yuuri."

Yuuri could not help the small leap in his heartbeat when he heard the sultry snarl from the Doctor.

"Hello Doctor Nikiforov," Yuuri stammered. He stepped forward like a robber sneaking into a museum.

He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Just Victor, Yuuri. Victor."

Victor Nikiforov had been clouding Yuuri's head since he joined the psychiatric rotation at the hospital. Whn people complained about how lucky Yuuri was to land a rotation with the famed Doctor Nikiforov, he had no idea what to expect from the head of psychiatry. However, From the moment he met the Doctor, Yuuri could not help but freeze up at the sight of the man. Victor was undoubtedly attractive, and he knew all of the medical students at the hospital were just begging to jump him the first chance they got. That was not what attracted him. It was Victor's gentleness to Yuuri that made him pause.

Victor had put Yuuri through the ringer. Every second of their time together was filled with medicating or checking on patients. Filling out papers down to checking people's temperature absconded the precious time together from them. Yuuri hardly got time for a rest, let alone a full hour of lunch.

However, the way Victor instructed him on different techniques or ways to handle patients made him weak in the knees. Yuuri was focusing on general surgery, so psychiatry was tougher for him. Victor was complete perfection in Yuuri's eyes. He was one of the best doctors in the country, and he treated every person he spoke to like they were the most important people in the world.

Now, the rules of irony dictate that some strange love affair would occur between them. Yuuri purposefully kept his distance from Victor to stop that. He noticed more and more touches between them in the past few days, and Yuuri grew more and more nervous around the doctor.

"You have my coffee?"

Yuuri gasped and thrusted the cup at him. "From Haruka's down the street. Just like you asked."

Victor giggled. "Mister Nanase is good with his beverages."

He reached out and grabbed the cup. However, he paused his grasp on the knuckles of Yuuri's frigid fingers. The touch felt like an electric shock on a doorknob to Yuuri. He stiffened up as Victor slowly trailed his thumb down Yuuri's long fingers. His caress was soft, almost non-existent like a feather painting a mural.

 _There he goes again,_ Yuuri thought as his stomach churned like the eye wall of a hurricane. _Messing with me as usual._

Just as soon as the touch began, it ended all too soon. Victor snagged the cup, a light smile on his face. "Good job, Yuuri. Ready to make our rounds?"

Their eyes met, Victor's almost predatory like a tiger about to devour a doe.

Yuuri gulped.

"We have a new patient today," Victor said. "Just came in from the emergency room yesterday."

Yuuri shook his head, eradicating the strange stirrings in his chest. "Oh, right. The patients."

Victor giggled. "He's an interesting man. Teenager from Russia. Apparently, he is a big ice skater. You know about ice skating?"

"Skated when I was younger. Nothing professional, though."

Victor stood up, beckoning Yuuri to follow him. "Big ice skater. Attempted suicide two days ago. Very hostile to the hospital staff. That reminds me of this one patient a few years ago. It was a Thursday..."

The Japanese man's emotions were confused by the attractive doctor in front of him as he dolled on about his past patients. He seemed nearly flirtatious with him the past week. Did it mean anything? Was he imagining things? Of course. Why would this renowned practitioner want any romantic attraction to a medical student? But then why did Victor's eyes appear to linger on him longer than usual? Why the strange, distractive touched when they walked down the hallway? Why did he text him asking to go out to the bar last Friday?

Yuuri sighed again as he and Victor left the office. Some things were left better unasked. Whatever these feelings were, they would fade away like the new snowfall blanketing the city outside.

* * *

The first wave of pain that woke Yuri Plisetsky rocked his stomach.

The slim, blonde hair man writhed with a quick twitch of his wiry arms. Entrapped in tight fitted sheets like a caterpillar in a cocoon, the sunlight peeking through the window blinds created color spots in his vision. Opening seafoam eyes, a pain seared through his abdomen like a thin knife teasing his skin with spiked metal.

He examined the hospital room with confusion and disdain. His eyes narrowed with every piece of drab furniture or dressing he saw in the room. It was a typical small box with a bright window to his left showcasing the outside world. A television hung in the top corner opposite the bed. A small sliding white door led the way to a closet. Next to the harsh cot he laid on, Yuri look peered at the electric alarm clock resting on the nightstand. A vase of dying carnations wilted behind the clock.

Yuri grunted. He slid himself over the stone mattress into an upright position. His arms curled in his lap, he rubbed his middle to assuage the numbing pain.

What did he remember? His name. Where he was from. Nothing else.

 _Did I fall down_ , Yuri thought. _Did I have an accident on the ice?_

His stomach rumbled again.

Yuri seethed through his teeth as he shifted his weight on the cot.

 _I remember now. I remember why._

The door opened.

"H-hello there."

Yuri shifted his glare towards the two doctors entering his room. One was a shy, blushing black haired man with a slight puff to his cheeks. His pants appeared a size to smal, and his slouch made him a non threatening figure. The other was a jocular man with silver hair and a thin smile. He charged into the room like a stripper sauntering into a jazz club.

Both of them stopped next to his bed. The shorter one cleared his throat and tapped the clipboard in his hands.

"Are you Yuri Plisetsky?"

The other Doctor shook his head. "Speak softer."

"Softer?"

"Tone matters here."

"Sorry. May I ask if your name is Yuri Plisetsky?"

"Why am I here?" He said.

Yuuri paused. The boy's voice resounded in the small room with the confidence of an opera singer. If he was sick or injured, his heavy voice did not hint at such an issue.

"Oh. Well...you are in my care because I am in residency and-."

"Wrong," Victor honked. Yuuri nearly leapt out of his skin as Victor shook his head. "Now you ask him about his drug history."

Yuuri guffawed. "But we haven't even established his name."

"First you ask name. Then, drug history. That's procedure," Victor said with a small grin.

"Okay," Yuuri said with hesitance. He looked down at the small, wiry boy wrapped in the bed covers.

Dark circles ran under his eyes like a raccoon. His porcelain skin matched the white blinds shielding the sunlight outside. The patient clothing draped over him was a human too large for the young man as he coughed into his arm. The thin cloth seemed to eat his small frame. His blonde hair, flat and lifeless, framed his gaunt face. Overall, the young man looked like he had been under a nasty cold for a few months and never saw the sun again.

Yuuri cleared his throat, a bead of sweat glistening on his black brow. "Have you been on any psychotropic drugs recently?"

"Why am I here?" Yuri asked again.

Yuuri swallowed before he tapped his glasses up his nose with a soft finger. "You're in my care because we are going to help you get better," Yuuri said in a rushed tone. "The higher ups transferred you from the emergency room so we can comprehensively study your behavior and actions. Me and Doctor Nikiforov here are going to treat you."

"That's not what I meant. Why am I still here?" Yuri asked again, his voice elevating in volume.

"In the hospital?" Victor stepped in. "You just got here."

"No, you moron," Yuri said in an annoyed voice.

"Why you're in my care?" Yuuri asked again. "It's because we a-."

"Why am I still here? Alive? On this Earth?"

Victor and Yuuri turned to each other. Yuuri's black eyes widened when processing the words. His hands shook his clipboard with light tremors shifting the papers on the wood. He swallowed, trying to extinguish the nerve-inducing drought in his parched throat. Even Victor, with years of experience, tugged at his shirt collar in discomfort while the younger man glared at them from his bed post. His smile evaporated like the melting snow on the sidewalk outside.

Victor looked back at Yuri and took a step forward. He debated as to whether he should initiate contact, a move Yuuri noticed with a small flinch of his left hand. Victor instead brushed back a strand of gray hair from his ocean eyes and kneeled down beside the bed.

"Mister Plisetsky, my good sir. I can call you Yuri, right?"

"No."

Victor sighed before flashing a cheeky grin. "We'll work on that. Do you know why you are here right now?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I didn't enter into a coma. I know why."

"You made a lot of people worried."

Yuri scoffed. "Now they worry about me."

Victor nodded, the sorrowful bite of his words not escaping his detection. "You've been transferred to this ward for seven days. Normally, we would have you in an observation room, but since you are so close to the nurse's station and you appear in stable condition, we will keep you in this room. I know you are tired, so all we require from you for now is that you stay in this bed and tell us when you need to use the restroom."

A lightning bolt flashed through Yuri's mind. He shot up in the bed, his face seemed to be just a shade paler. Yuuri leaned a step back as the blonde man grabbed one of the bars on bed side near Victor.

"But what about my coach? Who found me? Who brought me here? I have a big fucking skate soon, and I need to get out of he-."

"You'll leave when the week is up," Victor said. "What happens afterwards is up to the courts. Per our recommendations, of course."

Victor stood up, straightening out the wrinkles in his corduroy jacket. "So that means be nice to everybody, and we will give a good review. Doctor Katsuki here will be you're sitter for the time being."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "This idiot is watching over me?"

Victor nodded. He grabbed Yuuri by the shoulder, making the Japanese man squeak at the surprise touch. He tugged at him, making Yuuri follow him out of the room. "We do have a lot of paperwork to go through first, so we shall return."

Yuuri flashed one last look behind his shoulder. The young, frustrated man in the hospital bed appeared as angry as he was tired. Yuuri made a note to ask about his entire background as soon as he could.

Just as Victor reached for the golden doorknob, he turned around to face Yuri. "By the way, are you from Russia?"

Yuri crossed his arms and peered at Victor. "You?"

Victor smiled. "Yup. Born and raised."

Yuri grunted. "Idi nakhuy sam."

Victor chuckled. Just as Yuuri looked towards him in confusion, Victor twisted the doorknob and flung open the door. A metallic squeak covered Yuuri's squeals when they exited onto the hallway. His head flicked forward as the door slammed shut behind them.

In the hallway, nurses paraded past them underneath the flourescent lights blaring in the ceiling. Victor hummed to himself as he walked away. Yuuri, breathing in relief, hopped over towards Victor's side. He swatted away a bed of sweat on his brow and flattened the cowlicks in his hair; the pale indigo walls sliding past them with every step.

"He was kind of rude."

Victor shrugged. "You get all kinds in this place."

Yuuri looked over at Victor. "Did he say something to you before we left? In Russian?"

Victor laughed. "Nothing I can say in a hospital."

* * *

 **Hello everybody. Welcome to the story.**

 **For those who read my previous story, _Detroit and The Good Life With You_ , welcome back. This is going to be a short, fun, and hopefully insightful story about depression and suicide and love and whatever. Don't worry, there will be plenty of laughs along the way as we go through the hospital. **

**This story won't be nearly as long as my previous story. I may not update it as much either. I will update based off interest in the story. If no one is reading, I will probably pull the plug as just a fun little plot bunny idea. Otherwise, we sill see Yurio's week in the hospital.**

 **Please review! It is the most important thing you can do. You're input means the world to me, and I hope I am decent enough to achieve it.**

 **Thank you. See you soon!**


	2. Meetings

"Doctor?"

Yuuri's obsidian eyes tore themselves away from the loose sheets of paper in his hand. He gazed upward from his seat in a rickety wooden chair. A group of nurses and doctors stared at him seated in the corner of the cramped break room, flashing him inquisitive looks.

The break room was dirtier than the homeless-infested sidewalks outside the hospital in the downtown Detroit area.

The break room itself was indeed cramped. Not only did the hefty rotation of healthcare workers hover inside it like beagles swimming in a pond, but the giant refrigerator carrying homemade lunches invaded most of the space behind Yuuri. The linoleum counters stretching around the perimeter of the room held used coffee mugs and brown filters that wilted away with the remnants of dried cocoa powder. Even the pearl microwave in the corner had streaks of dried mocha hiding on the side. An antique, wood-carved record player underneath a food cabinet across the room was still a mystery to Yuuri.

A plastic, circular table rested in the center of the room with a few pouting doctors seated in hard foldout chairs. Steam swirled in their faces as paper cups sat in front of them. The remaining group stood, all of their eyes pointed at Yuuri.

All of this made Yuuri feel lonely, like he did not belong in a setting like this.

Regardless, he pushed his glasses up with a lazy finger and swallowed. "Yes, Doctor?"

Victor, who was standing at the head of the table with a folder in his hands, sighed. "I was just asking how you were feeling for your first week here."

Yuuri considered the room around him. He hardly had time to make friends with any of the staff at the hospital. However, the gentle gaze from Victor's piercing eyes made Yuuri uncomfortable to label himself a loner.

"Perfect," Yuuri croaked. "I think I'm getting along with everyone."

Victor smiled as the rest of the room gave each other puzzled looks. Yuuri spoke little to any of the other staff, so his insistence at contentment raised suspicion.

"Excellent," Victor said. Brushing back a strand of gray hair, he cleared his throat and thumbed through his folder. "So we have some business to get through before we get on with the day. Doctor Popovich, anything to report from last night?"

A tall, lanky man rose up from his seat, towering over the plastic table. His pointed, black flattop haircut looked like an arrow poised to fly from a bow. The doctor, white coat unbuttoned, sniffled with every tremble of his lips.

Victor, noticing an issue, lowered his tone. "Doctor Popovich? Georgi?"

Georgi wiped away a stray tear from his eye. Yuuri frowned while the man struggled to force words from his mouth. Georgi's wiry frame shook as his reddened eyes hid away from other's contact.

"You okay?" Victor asked.

"Nothing to report," Georgi said. "Just another night of nothing happening. One patient complained about...about the..."

Victor tilted his head. "About?"

"About the pudding!" Georgi shouted before collapsing into his chair. The overdramatic man delved into a fit of sobs as tears strolled down his pale cheeks.

The rest of the room appeared unbothered by the outburst. Yuuri looked at their bored expressions, his own face flashing concern.

"Is he okay?" Yuuri asked while Georgi rocked with every cry.

"Anya loved my pudding! Why, Anya? Why?" Georgi shouted.

"He's fine," a young woman next to Georgi said. The girl with thick, curled auburn hair that shaped her thin face waved a hand in the air. "Georgi broke up with his girlfriend again. This happens once a month," she explained in a soft, Russian accent.

Victor patted Georgi on the back. "Mila, please be nicer to Doctor Popovich in his time of need," Victor said as he leaned down to the crying man's ear. "If you need to take another mental health day, it's okay."

With a quick sniffle, Georgi stiffened his upper lip and hardened his face. He pawed his face with a small hand and smeared saline on his cheeks. He meant to look strong, but only succeeded in bloating his face from post-breakdown swelling. He furrowed his thick eyebrows, creasing them with resolve.

"No, I've taken too many this month already," Georgi said. "I must stay strong for my patients and...for my Anya."

"Great, Georgi," Mila interjected. "Can we move on with the meeting now?"

Victor went through his papers again. Yuuri contemplated about the inefficiency of their meetings if all of them would start with an emotional collapse of some kind. He kept silent while sipping his decaf black in a paper cup.

"Christophe," Victor pointed at a bulky, blonde haired man with eyelashes that poked out like spider legs over his golden eyes. "Any progress on that Korean man?"

The man, with shoulders as wide as the doorway leading to the break room, smacked his lips in amusement. Yuuri had little interaction with Doctor Christophe except for a strange moment in the public restroom. As he washed his hands under the sparkling faucet, Yuuri squeaked as the taller man slipped his hand into his pant pocket and left a business card behind with his home address. Yuuri was both flattered that Christophe considered him a decent one-night stand and terrified at the same time. So he stayed away, although Yuuri swore Christophe winked at him on the way to the meeting.

"Sadly," Christophe said in a thick Swiss accent. "Mister Yoon Bum seems to define all the characteristics of sexual deviancy and the disorders that follow it. That, and his rantings about a basement seem to be getting worse by the day."

"So anti-psychotics?" Victor asked.

Christophe shrugged. "The police interviewed the student he stalked, and it appears to be in his mind. Either he's a liar or dealing with psychosis."

"Excellent," Victor said in a cheerful way. "Coax more from him if you can."

Victor leafed through the stack of papers cradled in his forearms again. "Seung-Gil and Guang Hong are off to get the cupcakes for the annual hospital bake sale. Doctor Crispino, anything to report from yesterday's rotation?"

A serious, thin Italian man rolled up the satin sleeves on his white coat. "Emil keeps messing with my sister."

Victor wiped a bead of sweat caressing his brow. "Michele, you can't keep running up to the fifth floor every time a rumor about Sara comes down."

Mila, who scraped her fingernails with a thin file from her pocket, chuckled. "Besides, most of those rumors are just jokes."

Michele fumed and clumped his arms into a cross over his slim chest. "That nurse has been eyeballing her ever since she stepped in here. If he does something, I need to be there."

"To watch?"

"Shut up!" Emil roared.

Yuuri flinched at the angry man, but the rest of the room appeared cool. He still was not used to the odd cast of people in the psych ward. Yuuri was clueless in what position he fit into this windmill of strange characters. However, with the flick of the wrist, Victor waved off Michele's outburst.

"Relax, Michele. You're sister is fine. The hospital has a strict 'no-sex' policy between co-workers until eight at night."

"Hasn't stopped me before," Christophe said with a quick wink at the table.

Turning towards the other side of the table, Victor smirked at a younger man in turquoise scrubs. "Nurse JJ, did you administer the lithium to patient Kirkland?"

The nurse was as broad-shoulder as Christophe, although not quite as tall. He was lean, muscular even as his pale blue eyes flashed with the mention of his name, as if it gave him fuel to rocket through the day. His midnight hair, styled in a spiked undercut, draped his angular face as his smile overtook it. Yuuri had talked to JJ a few times previous since they worked the same shift. He knew little about him personally, but JJ was loud, brash, and arrogant for a newly-registered nurse. He was also from Canada. Both of those sins were enough to make Yuuri weary of dealing with the annoying man.

"You betcha," JJ said in a booming voice. He crossed his arms and slumped back in his chair. "It was pretty easy. Although the guy keeps shouting about imaginary creatures and countries and whatnot."

"Countries?"

"Something about them being real," JJ said with a yawn. "It's pretty early for this, isn't it Victor? You sure we couldn't do ten like usual?"

Victor frowned at JJ. "Are you keeping up with your rounds?"

JJ scoffed. "Easy peasy. Although making the patients eat the food here is a challenge."

Before Yuuri could question any sane person using the phrase "easy peasy," Victor raised an eyebrow. "So when Miss Suzimiya in room twenty complained about not receiving her food yesterday, that wasn't your fault?"

JJ froze. His eyes widened like a deer peering at the headlights of a sixteen-wheeler. Frantic, his head whipped around the room looking for any support or escape. When the meeting members simply gazed at him, he cleared his throat with a curt tug at his scrub collar. "Oh, well. Y'know what happens. There was an emergency and we needed all hands on deck."

"Emergency?"

"Yeah, a real one," JJ said. He chuckled nervously. "So I couldn't give her the food because of that. And I told Nurse Isabel that she should give it, but she was busy with other stuff. So that's why she couldn't get anything yesterday. But it's not like she starved or anything! We gave her dinner afterwards."

Victor shook his head with the tact of a disappointed mother. "Just make sure to deliver all the food next time. To all the patients."

JJ saluted Victor. "You got it, boss."

Yuuri swore he saw Victor roll his eyes, but instead the Russian man shifted on his feet and sashayed around the table towards Yuuri. Placing himself between him and the table, Victor rested his hand on Yuuri's shoulder.

He gasped.

There it was again. Another spark that shocked his nerves. Victor's touches were affecting him more by the day.

It made him sick.

"As you all know," Victor said with his soft fingers massaging Yuri's shoulder. "We have a new patient in this wing. His name is Yuri Plisetsky, and he is a famous ice skater."

"Famous? I don't know him." JJ mocked.

"You didn't even know who the President was until yesterday," Mila sneered at JJ.

"Did too," JJ whined. "It's the guy from that tv show."

"What's his name?" Mila asked with a smug smirk.

JJ scratched his neck. "He's the black one, right?"

"Back on topic," Victor spoke as the rest of the break room looked at his imposing figure. His confidence emanating from his pristine posture as he gazed down at Yuuri. "Doctor Katsuki is his sitter and primary Doctor. If he needs any assistance from us, then we will respond. Also, make sure you remember our bedside manner lectures. We don't need any more lawsuits like last week."

Victor looked down at the timid man, who twitched with every contact of warm skin from the standing Russian man.

"If you have any reports on Mister Plisetsky, let Doctor Katsuki know. This is his main patient, after all."

Wink.

* * *

Yuri Plisetsky had a lot plugging up his mind.

His thoughts scrambled like incessant radio chatter over a helicopter pilot's earpiece. His wiry legs, draped by crisp ivory sheets, sprawled out in front of his seated position. His slouched back leaned on the pile of stone pillows shielding him from contact with the white bricks making up the wall. Thumbing a frayed piece of fabric in the sleeve of his pale indigo gown, Yuri glared at the box television flickering in the harsh sunlight flaring through the window. He could hardly make out the latest car crash on the local news.

Yuri had little to do in the hospital room. The hospital confiscated any electronics and tools and anything that could be used to end his own life. He resorted to sitting in bed like this and examining the latest offering of American soap operas as nurses sauntered past his door with an occasional snippet of some juicy hospital gossip. The thick, clinical air stifled his breathing with the lemon air freshener pumping fragrance in the corner by a mirror and sink.

He was not even allowed to go to the restroom by himself.

The main questions that swirled in Yuri's mind involved his career. He liked to believe he was famous for his excellent skating talent. He knew better. The covers of al the girly teenager magazines. The stupid fanfictions and cringe-inducing fan videos of him. Yuri was popular for more than just his skating talent.

Yet, nobody had contacted him in the hospital.

His fans had no idea where he was located, so he excused that. Then again, he could live without some rabid fangirls wrestling each other to take a picture with the grouchy teenager. No, it was the fact that his coach and competition could not care less about seeing him. Yakov was nowhere to be found, and Lilia cared little about her protege in general.

Friends? Family? Yuri shook his head to himself with a quick yank of the frayed thread. Those two things did not exist for him.

So here Yuri sat on the hard airplane seat they called a hospital bed. Alone.

Basically alone.

The quiet man with slightly puffed cheeks and mussed slate hair occupied himself with a book. His thick-rimmed oak glasses perched on the edge of his hooked nose while he scanned his reading material. He had rolled in a leather office chair, uttering a word about how the visitors' plastic chairs was too hard on his back. His voice, weak and fragile, complemented the unremarkable man with near perfection.

For the last three hours, the Japanese doctor in residency flipped pages and made the occasional grunt as he stretched his legs. Yuri supposed that protocol stopped Yuuri from making light conversation, and he would rather jump through the window than say anything to the frantic doctor. However, death by boredom was a real possbility at this point, and his parched mouth could use exercise.

"Is killing myself supposed to be this boring?"

Yuri had to supress a smirk as Yuuri Katsuki whipped his head upward. His wide eyes twitched, blinking like images on the television screen to adjust to the new lighting.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri asked. "I missed something?"

Yuri rolled his emerald eyes. "I thought there would be security and cameras and a bunch of other shit. Aren't you guys supposed to put restraints on my arms?"

Yuuri cringed as a knot tightened in his chest. His temples flared with pain with anxiety tickling his nerves. The stakes were high in these situations. One wrong word could severely hurt Yuri's emotional state. Despite this fact, Yuri had been surprisingly calm throughout his ordeal so far. All the other nurses had to report from his day in the hospital was a quiet teenager watching television. He did little else than utter the occasional complaint about the pillows or the sunlight beaming through the windows.

"That's not how it works," Yuuri said while remembering his training. Calm, and nonjudgemental. Soft and understanding. Just like an NPR radio announcer.

He cleared his throat. "Usually, we monitor like hawks. The good news is that you have been incredibly stable and calm through your stay. We decided not to make anything more complicated for you."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean 'stable?'"

Yuuri gulped. He knew he would step on a rake at some point.

"Stable isn't the best word," Yuuri backtracked. "You've been very mature, so we want you to be com-."

"Cut the bull, moron," Yuri growled. "You're a new doctor, aren't you? So they decided to just throw me to you, right? I'm not high-priority enough or something like that? I'm not dangerous enough? Give me a break. I couldn't get any sleep last night because of the shitty nurses hear talking right outside my door about going on a diet. Then, I have to deal with watching these fucking soap operas these stupid Americans get hung up on. I mean, this one on the television right now had a fight scene about the color of the widow's fucking dress. Her sister stabbed her over the color of her dress! So I'm not mature or calm. I'm pissed off because I've been here all day when I should be practicing for my skates. So don't act like this is normal for you."

Yuri crossed his arms and pouted. Looking away, he drew in a deep breath, basking in the aftershock of his rant. He blinked before shaking his head to himself. "It's not for me. This isn't normal," he said in a quiet voice.

Yuuri, crossing into dangerous territory, reflected on his hours of handbook reading and memorization. If Yuri was going to open up, he needed to start the process. It would be much harder for the psychiatrists to pry through the skater's emotions like robbers breaking into a safe. Maybe he could do some proactive coaxing and soften the blow to Yuri's mind.

Raising his glasses up his nose, Yuuri sat up in his chair. "Can I ask why you attempted suicide?"

Yuri peered at the doctor, who appeared to be so nervous that his arms visibly shook like small tremors on the top of a boiling pot of water.

"Isn't that a question for the psych guy coming in soon?"

Yuuri nodded. "The mental health professional will arrive soon. I just wanted to know if you would tell me. I'm a doctor, so it's my job to care about you."

Yuri scoffed. "As long as my insurance covers it, right?"

"That's not why I'm a doctor," Yuuri said with a small hint of resolve rolling off his flat tongue. "And I do care about you. I'm still in residency, so I want to get this right."

Yuri considered the man in the chair. For as frumpy and awkward as this doctor appeared, the dark tinge of resolve seemed to castigate itself in his dark irises. Yuuri's stone face creased with concentration. For a second, Yuri felt a warmth envelop his chest, like somebody actually cared about him.

He shook his head and passed it off as indigestion from the awful scrambled eggs he was served earlier in the day.

"She stabbed him for her dress."

Yuuri blinked. "Huh?"

Yuri could not stave off the ghost of a smirk on his face. "In that show I just watched. She hated the color green, so her sister stabbed her with a fountain pen."

As the tension lifted itself off Yuuri's shoulders, he spat out a chuckle. "Really? Did you actually watch that?"

Yuri groaned. "It's all that's on this time of day."

"In Japan," Yuuri said while he ran a hand through his thick hair. "We have soap operas at night."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's called 'the news.'"

Yuri chuckled. "American news is so stupid, though. I mean, you have your typical murder or robbery, but most of it is boring. It's just some news about the tax rate going down or some athlete getting married."

Yuuri snorted. "You're telling me. Not as bad as some other shows they have here. They have a show where people find out if children are theirs in front of a whole crowd."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Yuuri smiled. "The guy says if you're the father or not, and the guy usually celebrates if he isn't. I watch it all the time on my breaks."

Yuri sighed. "Americans are like the cotton candy of the world."

"What does that mean?"

Yuri shrugged. "Don't know. Just feels like the best way to describe them."

Just as Yuuri laughed, the door opened.

He was a tall man, with a razor-sharp jawline. His sunken dark eyes matched the sleek, midnight hair gelled down over his large forehead. He was a gaunt man, and his thick frame gave off an imposing image as he stood in the doorway. His expression stoic and clinical, he stared straight at Yuri with a clipboard in one hand and a mechanical pencil in another. His aura made Yuri curious. Such a serious man in a land of idiots stood out, and his immaculate black jacket with white tie clashed with the indigo dress shirt smoothed out underneath his suit.

He meant business, and Yuri hated him for that.

Yuuri shot to his feet, his smile all but evaporated into the thick air of the hospital room. "Doctor Altin, welcome."

* * *

I think the format of a scene with Yuuri and Yurio is a decent format. We can see what they are both going through.

Thank you so much. Make sure you review any comments, concerns, or suggestions you have. It only takes a second, but it means the world to me. Let me know what could be better!

See you soon!


	3. Appointments

Otabek Altin seemed untrustworthy to Yuri. His sleeked-back dark hair shined underneath the fluorescent lighting. His lips, thin and pale, stretched taut over his smooth face. Dark cheekbones etched out like shells in sand, while his eyes bore right onto him as he lay on the hard ivory cot. His square jaw was peppered with small spikes of black fuzz, while his pointed nose jumped out between his symmetrical pose. The yellow overcoat and navy suit he wore with a periwinkle tie made him look like a serious businessman. Something Yuri hated.

Yuri found it hard to make eye contact, flickering his emeralds around the room at various points. However, perched in his leather chair like a bald eagle on a roof's edge, Otabek tapped his pencil on the legal pad leaning on his lap. The sunlight beamed through the closed blinds and warmed Yuri's leg in an uncomfortable manner. It made Yuri's legs stuffy under the sheets.

He squirmed like a snake slithering on the jungle floor. Otabek peeked up from his legal pad, raising an eyebrow.

Yuri stared back at him, his mouth pouting in an annoyed frown.

"So are you going to make me better or what?" Yuri barked.

Otabek considered Yuri for a few seconds. The old fan bolted to the ceiling hummed and rocked on it's highest velocity.

"Better?" Otabek said in his low voice.

Yuri huffed and crossed his thin arms. Otabek noticed the ivory pallor they held, even when they were hidden underneath his cerulean hospital gown.

"Y'know," Yuri said. "Give me some pills?"

Otabek shook his head. "Not yet."

"So what are you doing here, then?" Yuri growled, clenching his fists around the thin sheets covering him. "It hasn't even been a day since I've been here, and they're already trying to pick my brains?"

Otabek scratched on his legal pad. Emergency suicide analysis were always the hardest for him on both a paperwork and personal level. In fact, most of his day consisted of dealing with the mentally injured patients in the hospital. If it was not a decrepit woman with depression issues to the overwhelmed teenager, trying to figure out the emotional problems and solutions to these people were never a straight deal.

Yuri was even more of a problem. Based of his slouched posture and his arms wrapped around himself, he was more closed off than the crumbling parking garage next to the hospital. His furrowed eyebrows and dry lips made him appear even more indignant.

"You're an ice skater?" Otabek asked.

This was his first tactic. Learn about the patient on a personal level.

Yuri scoffed and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind his ears. "Figure skater."

"I apologize," Otabek said. "I didn't know that was an insult."

"Not usually," Yuri replied. "I just hate it when I'm called ice skater. Like I'm just some kid who threw some shoes on and started doing triple Salchows like nothing."

Otabek nodded. "Were you training around here?"

"Rent," Yuri said. "My coach was looking for some place cheaper than Moscow. That's why I'm living in this dumpster fire now."

With a flourish, Otabek scribbled more in black ink. "You have many friends?"

Yuri paused. His face fell for a split second, his eyes widening with a small slice of surprise flashing over him. Otabek examined the change in his mood. For whatever reason, that question seemed to have thrown Yuri off guard. That would be a point to discuss further with him. However, like a popped lightbulb, the expression delved into his regular glare.

Yuri glanced over at Otabek, his head still craned down in a small tilt. "Aren't you supposed to ask about my crime history or something stupid like that?"

Otabek set his pen down, feeling it roll over the pad to rest in his lap. "I don't feel like asking about that."

With a shake of his head, Yuri looked away from Otabek. "Maybe I don't feel like telling you."

Otabek sighed. "Mister Plistesky, we ha-."

"Don't call me that."

The Khazaki man leaned back in his chair. "Would your first name work?"

"Hell no," Yuri said with a snort. "Just don't call me that other name. It makes me feel old."

"How long have you been skating?" Otabek asked, trying to plow through the conversation.

Yuri shrugged. "You're not good at this. Are you?"

Silence. Otabek peered at Yuri, a stone face almost breaking the teenager's resolve. His eyelids twitched like insolvent leaves blustering in the wind outside.

"Hey, you heard me," Yuri said, his legs fidgeting like boiling spaghetti. "I get what you're trying to do. The whole schtick where you try to get to know me and analyze me and all that shit. It's not going to work on me. I'm not going to be an experiment."

"I'm not experimenting," Otabek said. "I genuinely want to know who you are."

"Just look me up online," Yuri growled.

The Russian skater's back straightened while his fists returned to his sides. They clenched the sheets again in frustration. "All of the stuff you need to know is there. You don't need to hear it from me. It's all there if you just look it up. My history and where I live and my scores. You name it."

"I don't want to know about your scores," Otabek said.

"Then what do you want to know?"

"Why you tried to kill yourself."

Yuri's mouth hung open. Eyes wide like dinner plates, he froze as he felt the liquid in his mouth evaporate like springs in a desert. He sat upright like a springboard in the bed, staring back at the psychiatrist.

SOMETHING HERE!

"It's snowing again outside."

As Yuri looked out the window, Otabek noticed the gray clouds covering up the sun. White flakes fluttered around like wind sweeping up orange leaves on an autumn day.

Otabek really had no idea what to say about anything. If he tried to pry into Yuri's life he was bitten back at like a lion snapping at a tamer. HE had no idea wehre to go with his line of questioning, so he decided to humor Yuri.

"I really hate skaters."

Otabek looked back up from his clipboard. Yuri glared out the window, spying on the white drops pillowing off the window. His face was flat, aging a few years while his fists clenched in his lap.

"The people you skate with?" Otabek asked.

"I went to this party once," Yuri said. "It was after some contest. I forgot where it was. Maybe it was Barcelona or Paris. But there was this one skater, and he was an older guy. He was going to retire in a few months, but I really liked his skating. So being a stupid fourteen year old, I went up to him at this fancy gala. He was nice and all that. He patted me on the head and told me how great I was going to be and all of that shit. He had drunk a little bit, so I felt that beer breath hitting my nose. He was arrested a few years later for a DUI, just so you know."

Yuri took a breath, clearing his throat as the snowflakes stuck onto the window outside.

Otabek blinked, staring at Yuri as he gazed at the snowfall.

"Around midnight, I left with my coach. We passed an alleyway on the way to our hotel. Yakov, that's my idiot coach's name, he heard something in the alley. So we looked around the corner and we saw him."

"The skater."

Yuri turned around, his eyes serious, almost as if a small fire had been ignited in them as he peered at Otabek. His cheeks hollowed as his lips contorted into a tight sneer.

"Beating his girlfriend," Yuri said. "And I don't mean just an argument and a slap. He was pounding her like a fucking boxer on a sandbag."

"And you saw all this?" Otabek asked with a flicker of concern in his face. "At that age?"

Yuri bit his lip, frowning like an angry kitten. "But what really pissed me off was the next day. That same girlfriend? She was at the rink. Skating. Concealer for her black eyes. Makeup for the blood. She finished fourth at that contest."

"That must have been something to see," Otabek said.

"Not really," Yuri shook his head. "Her program kind of sucked."

"I meant the domestic abuse."

Yuri coughed out a dark chuckle. "I wasn't too upset by it. I think I realized just how shallow we are at that point," Yuri said, narrowing his eyes as he looked down at the sheets in front of him. "Skaters."

"The smoke and mirrors?" Otabek asked.

"All the emotion of skating," Yuri said. "Yakov told me since I first got on the ice that it needed to be an extension of myself."

Otabek took in the knowledge of the young skater in the bed. The boy had seen a rough sight, so the chances of him seeing and dealing with other past traumas were likely. Even if they did not occur to him directly, those images make up a person. And at such an impressionable age, Otabek was not surprised that Yuri would end up in this situation one day. However, the question of why he was in this room now was still up in the air like the dust swirling around the fan above them. Something had to trigger this, but the information was scant.

Otabek pressed on. "So what would you describe your skating then? If it's an extention of yourself?"

Yuri smirked. "Nice try, shrink. Your hour is up."

Otabek lifted his head up towards the wall clock next to the wooden entrance door. Both hands pointed at twelve.

The man in the suit stood up, straightening his jacket and tie to eradicate the thin wrinkles. Kicking away the leather chair towards the corner, he cleared his throat. "I guess we will continue this tomorrow."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You actually got something out of me, though. I'm impressed."

"It's my job," Otabek said, a ghost of a smile borne over his tightened lips.

Yuri crossed his arms in front of him, an indignant expression pointed at Otabek. He noticed how Yuri almost smiled at him as well.

* * *

The printer shot out sheets of paper with a soothing hum whirring in the machine.

Yuuri grabbed each sheet as it slid into his grasp. Nurses stomped past him while a man in a wheelchair rolled through the double doors into the next ward. The lavender walls surrounding Yuuri made him feel a little warmer in the clinical setting. Potted petunias wilted on the plastic coffee-table next to the nurse's station. He looked towards the computer in the reception area. The bright screen illuminated Phichit's smiling face, undoubtedly perusing the internet for cat photos instead of doing his job.

Yuuri considered himself just a tad too high-strung for the environment of a hospital.

"Yuuri!"

He yelped as a hand smacked his shoulder. Whipping aaround like ballerina on a pivot, his face was a breath's distance away from Victor's, their noses a millimeter from touching.

Yuuri hopped back, a hand clutched to his chest.

"Everything well today?"

"I'm sorry," Yuuri stammered. "I forgot to fax this paperwork over yesterday. So I'm doing it now."

Victor gazed at the papers in his grasp and chuckled. "The menu for our donor's banquet?"

"I promise I won't do it again."

Victor laughed. He reached over and put his soft hand back on Yuuri's shoulder. He flinched. The touch again ignited a small spark that coursed hot blood through his body. His heart pattered in his chest harder while his mouth became a desert. His boss again made him feel an odd way. An inappropriate-in-the-workplace way.

"You're so hard on yourself."

"I'm not," Yuuri said with a small tremble.

Victor gave him the tiniest of smirks that made Yuuri almost melt. "You need to relax more, Doctor. You get so stressed out over the smallest things. You nearly punched nurse JJ when he surprised you in the bathroom that one time."

Yuuri grimaced. "He rounded the corner and bumped into me. It was a reflex."

Victor reached over and ruffled the cowlick on top of Yuuri's head. He almost felt a moan escape his lips. Victor was practically fondling him out in the middle of the hallway, and he was allowing it to happen.

"Lunch plans?"

Yuuri needed a second to shake his mind back to reality. He licked his lips and cleared his parched throat. "Me and Phichit usually head to the oyster bar down the street."

Victor nodded. "I talked to your friend. He said he was very busy and wouldn't mind if I had lunch with you."

Yuuri turned around. Phichit laughed at another cat video on the computer.

"I'm going to kill him," Yuuri muttered under his breath.

"Now then," Victor said, wrapping his arm around Yuuri's shoulder. "Shucking time."

* * *

 **Well, I apologize for taking a long hiatus. However, much has happened.**

 **What is going on with this story? How did you feel about Yuri's talk with the new doctor? Where is Yuuri and Victor going with each other? Tell me if it's worth reading!**

 **So how is everything with you all? I hope I have your attention. Make sure you review and comment any suggestions or criticisms you have!**

 **Thank you so much. See you soon.**


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